


UNTITLED 4: EMPEROR TAKA

by TORUKAisJUSTICE



Series: The Art of Not Finishing Shits [4]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Ancient Japan, Emperor Taka, Imperial shits, M/M, Poor Toru, Taka is a bitch, still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 14:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TORUKAisJUSTICE/pseuds/TORUKAisJUSTICE
Summary: The Emperor would look good on red—bathing in his own pool of blood—after Toru had stabbed him for over a million times in his mind.





	UNTITLED 4: EMPEROR TAKA

**Author's Note:**

> _Slaves were called seikō (生口 "living mouth")._
> 
> Lo and behold, another shitty fic that was dropped from my list of ongoing fics~! The plot is going close to that of HTMHF so I decided to scrap it off. But if anyone is interested to continue this, or make anyshit out of this, I'll gladly give it to you, ne?
> 
> Disclaimer: This is all but a product of my imagination. OOR is not and will never be mine. All mistakes, errors, and the actual lack of motivation to write is mine.

Red.

Everything that he can see was _red—_ the violent flames burning everything on its wake, the shrine, the village houses, the school, and everything inside this small, humble town. They _we’re_ living in peace, outside and far from the Capital where all the chaos ensued. They _we’re_ safe from political disputes, from assassinations brought by the Imperial family towards their enemies—and themselves, as well—killing their kin for power and land and riches—killing their kin and dirtying their hands all for the right to rule the vast Land of the Rising Sun.

_It used to be greens_ —fields and forest lands splayed on the rich earth as far as Toru’s eyes can see, blotches of blue streams and golden rice fields painted the whole scenery of their quaint town. He was born here, he had grown up here, made a family of his own and he had always thought that in this very is where he would find his eternal peace in the far future.

Not _now._

_But it was red_ —the greens burnt to ashes, dark charcoals before being blown away into nothingness. The stench of burning human flesh filled the air, the screams piercing his ears, the last, pained breaths of his townspeople before they meet their terrible death by a spear lodged into their hearts or throats.

It was sickening and Toru had never hated a single color in his life.

_Red._

He hates _red_ — _the color of blood_ splattered on his hands— _his beloved’s and the child she’s carrying_ —the _color of the crimson sky_ far above them, the _color of the fire_ lapping up what he had known as his everything—the house he built with his own hands, the posts and walls and roofs he had stitched together with blood and sweat for days— _he hates red—_

The _color of the bright Imperial garb_ that man—no, he’s a _monster_ —a devil incarnate, the son of the Demon—is wearing. Red filled Toru’s eyes as the fabrics were gently swayed by the harsh, scathing breeze, brushing them on the dirtied ground where Toru is currently kneeling on. Even the mud and grass seems to be painted in that ugly, revolting color.

“All done...?”

Toru flinched when the man finally spoke, the second time since arriving in their town. The first words that came out of those lips was a death order—, “Kill everyone aside from the men we could use for war,”—they we’re spoken in a lazy, soft manner—like the emperor is just talking about the _lovely weather,_ the fresh scent of trees and grass permeating from the nearby forest, and not ordering his men to slaughter everyone in the village.

Toru sneaked a glance at the man standing a few feet away from him. He could lunge at him, cross the short distance between them and wrap his bloodied hands into that fragile looking neck and strangle him to death. He could do it—see the _red_ slipping from that full lips, he could see the red on the blank almond-shaped eyes--rolling down on his alabaster cheeks like a fountain of red-tinted tears. He could do it— _he could—_

But there were read around them—guards with arrows and bows and spears and swords. They could impale all of those weapons right through his tired, worn out body before he could take five steps towards the Emperor—and he would die, without even seeing Death gripping that proud, mighty murderer.

_But that would be better_ —his mind supplied as his head hung low again. They were just having a good breakfast earlier. She _was_ there, putting the dishes on the worn wooden table, with Toru seating at the head of it. She _was_ there, laughing and talking, her shoulder-length hair bouncing with every slight movement. She _was_ there, telling him how her morning has been, how the life blooming within her has giving her strength every time she opened her eyes. She _was_ there, biding her good bye, hugging his waist a bit tighter than usual and muttering for him to come back home as soon as possible and he was there kissing her back, telling her to take care of herself and that he will be back in no time.

_She was just there…_

A few hours ago, she was just there…

Alive and breathing and pretty and all that makes Toru love her with all of his heart.

She was just there— _wearing her white yukata—_ smiling so pure and charming and soft and—

He choked back a sob that was threatening to rip out from his throat. He clamped his lips shut, biting at the lower ones to prevent himself from screaming and sobbing like a broken man—because that’s what he is at the moment— _alone, broken_ —because everything was gone, everyone was gone—

Flashes of a girl with shoulder-length hair flooded his mind. She was laying on her back, a basket of peaches discarded just a few feet from her once soft hands. She was wearing white—but it was so _soaked and tinted and dirtied_ with blood that it was almost like she’s wearing a red dress—

And it’s all his fault—his fault—that fucking—

He flinched back when a pair of warm, soft hands encaged his dirtied cheeks. Wha—

He looked up—wide, burning eyes met calm, almond-shaped ones.

_He’s pretty._

Strands of blond hair cascaded on his face as he bent over to reach his face. His eyes were wide with curiosity, giving him an eternal youthful look—along with his flustered cheeks adorned with moles on either side. His tall nose was slightly red on its proud tip and his mouth—his generous, plump lips parted open as he breathes in a steady manner. He tilted his head in confusion, while Toru’s eyes just darkened and darkened with every second ticking by—

This is his chance.

_Grab him—choke him—kill him—_

Kill, kill, kill the man who killed everyone, kill the man who took everything—

—but then, the man’s eyes lazily met his fierce, murderous gaze before the Emperor’s lips were suddenly spread into a wide, manic grin—his eyes glinted in the dark, skin pale as alabaster, as his fingers almost dug on his cheeks—

And Toru was left kneeling there, with eyes wide with fear and disbelief— _because how can a man so pretty and petite and oh-so small could terrified him like that—_

“Ah, such pretty face…” he said, voice rough and raw and almost purring, his breath fanning across his cheeks as he leaned even closer—and even if Toru wanted nothing but to just lean away and be gone he can’t, because he froze on his spot—meeting those hungry gazes with wide, confused, and disgusted orbs—, “Would you like to accompany me in my chambers, dear _seikō-san?”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

There were stories about the Red Emperor that every other Japanese people had probably heard once in their lives. The news circulated fast in the places of convergence—markets, ports and parks—but no one really talks about it out loud, for the fear for their lives.

The Emperor is a _ruthless_ one.

Born from the Moriuchi Clan, a long lineage where most of the Imperial leaders emerged from, the Emperor was said to be so cunning and merciless when it comes to ruling the country. He was young— _too young,_ when both of his parents were murdered, leaving a then-18-year-old to ascend to the throne that everyone was fighting and dying for. After the ascension, the Emperor sieged every known land oof his enemies, pillaging villages and expanding his rule to every known shore, every known valleys and mountain. And in the course of his search for supremacy over the land, he had killed countless of innocent lives— _men and women, elderlies and children_ —he had burned towns to the ground, took men to be enlisted in his ever-growing army and took the pretty slaves into his bed chambers as lowly whores for a night.

The Emperor is a _lascivious_ one.

Draped in bright red, the Emperor has always been known to be the Royal Whore who have a harem filled with the prettiest and most gorgeous creatures all over the land. Stories tell how his bed was so large that it can fit ten people all at the same time—the least number of people writhing and moaning and moving on it just for His Highness’ entertainment. Guards had sworn that they couldn’t focus on their duties while hearing all the sounds—the slapping and smacking of skin against skin, the rustling of the highest quality of fabrics, the moans and groans and grunts—every lewd sounds that resonates from within the chamber that only the chosen could see.

Only the prettiest could see.

While everyone in the outskirts of the country were doing their best not to offend nor gather the Emperor’s attention—it might result to deaths or everything taken away from them, who knows? —the girls and boys in the Capital were different—dying and preening just to catch the fancy of the mightiest of them all. They wanted in, because life in the Harem is great—fancy clothes, good meals and reverence that only royals could ever have— _they’ve all wanted it_ —in exchange of a night filled of carnal activities and surprises in the Emperor’s chamber.

They would die for it—kill for it—something that Toru could never understand.

How can they sleep with someone who is known to slaughtered kids and grannies and women all over the country? How can they take being held by hands tainted by a sea of blood? How can they yearn for the touches and kiss and attention from someone who don’t even bat an eye while a full grown man was being eviscerated right in front of him?

How?

He didn’t find the answers to his questions, when exhaustion and terror and longing and this great, great desire to kill a man— _to kill this man in red_ —finally took his consciousness away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Takahiro lazily sprawl himself on his throne. It has been a long day, and having a trip towards one of the poorest village in the land is not really an exciting thing to do. He was tired, and he would love to just sleep in the comforts of his chamber, if it wasn’t just for his royal duties that badly needed his attention.

And by royal duties, he means sorting out their keeps—the once freemen dragged into his Palace to force into submission. He would need them, now more than ever, as he was planning to wage another war against a clan that threatens to dethrone him as early as the first day he stepped onto the throne.

_I would like to see them try…_

He scanned the lowered heads to the men they’ve got from the village. All of them are kneeling, shaking in fear, heads almost touching the pristine floor in the presence of the most powerful man in the empire—all, except one.

_Hmmm?_

A brow lifted up in surprise, and interest, as he recalled the man who’s still glaring at him from the far side of the room. He was the good looking man from the village—dark hair, wide eyes, tall nose and perfectly sculpted lips that makes Taka held his face even if its marred with ashes and blood and mud.

The pretty man.

Taka blinked and lazily rose his hand, pointing towards the direction of the man openly displaying his hostility to him, “ _You._ Come here…”

Everyone in that direction flinched, but the man didn’t even make any movement. He was just there, kneeling with a sour look on his face— _like Taka is an abomination to look at—_ and it piques his curiosity because, surely, he has one hell of a face that people would die for? He looks good, right? So why is that man glaring at him like he’s the _personification_ of ugliness, of horridness and all that’s foul to the eyes?

Huh…

The false smile on his face instantly turned into a frown as he nodded to his guard, “Bring him here.”

There were shouts at first, the man really struggling like hell as the Imperial Guards dragged him to the raised platform of the throne. Someone hit the man, forcing him to sunk on his knees in front of Taka, just within the reach of his arms, if he ever wanted to touch him.

But he looks so dirty.

Yet still gorgeous. Is he even a man of this nation...?

“Let go of me!”

“Shut up!” the guard pulled his arms over his back and forced him to look down on Taka’s highly embellished clothes, the flaming haori draped over the arm rests of the throne and flowing like crimson liquid on the steps, “Behave yourself or you’ll get tortured in the dungeon!”

The prisoner glared at the guard but stopped struggling nonetheless.

“Maa, maa,” Taka sighed as he cradled his chin with his right hand, “No need to torture our pretty little friend here…” he lifted his robe-cladded legs and prod the man’s cheek with a foot, “What’s your name, _Seiko_?”

The look of pure and utter disgust on the man’s face was so hilarious Taka could have laughed if it wasn’t just so insulting on his part.

“I am not a slave!” the man said as he turned his face away from his porcelain-like foot. Taka scowled and chased the man’s cheeks, his brows knitting in amusement and concentration until he finally had tipped the man’s chin up with his foot—

Dark burning eyes glared bravely up at him.

_Something_ sparked deep within his chest.

“Oh, you are,” he purred, full lips spreading in a wide, indulgent smile as he traced the man’s sharp jawline with his toes—gasping in excitement as the eyes burned even brighter, like he’s just a thread away from lunging forward and yanking him down of his mighty throne, “from the moment I stepped onto your land, everything and everyone that resides there is already mine,” he narrowed his eyes, “ _Mine_.”

“We’re not—!” the man struggled but the guards kept him on his spot on the floor, “We’re not yours—all the people you’ve killed and dragged here, we’re not yours, dammit! You don’t even know that the village is existing and you suddenly came waltzing in, slaughtering every—,”

“ _Mou_ , shut your mouth!” Takahiro growled, planting his feet on the man’s chest to lightly shove him, “Too many words! Everything is fair in love and war and I’ve won that land fair and square—,” the man doesn’t have to know that he buried a long katana into the chieftain’s stomach before sauntering towards the town proper—, “and I have every rights to do what I want with my properties—,”

“I’m not— _she’s not_ —they’re not—,”

“—and that includes you, fine young man,” Takahiro ended up his speech with a soft, almost coddling voice, “So tell me, tell your Emperor the name you want to be called or I’ll make something up for you. And I’ll promise that you won’t like it, not even for a bit, _shonen._ ”

“Die, you fucking—,”

The foolish man indeed tried to surge forward but the guards held him down, pushing his face right onto the warm floor. Taka mournfully shook his head, that pretty face would be a history if the man would keep on fighting off like that, before he mockingly taps his foot on the man’s head.

“Ah, such rash behavior could get you killed, you know—,”

“I will fucking kill you—,”

“Silence!” the guard bellowed, pushing the man further on the floor, before glancing at the emperor, asking for permission, “He’s been disrespectful for you, your Highness. I think it’s better if we should just execute him rather than torture him in the dungeons.”

Takahiro frowned at that. He doesn’t what this man to get killed just after a few hours of finding him. His life in this prison he called Palace has been boring these past few months, and having this spark of revolt and insubordination from the man is a new experience for him—something to light up his dull, murky world.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, ignoring the man’s muffled protest under his foot, “He seems alright for me, I could even make him useful if he would just learn how to obey his Master’s words…” he then regarded the squirming slave on the floor, “Why are you so intent on killing me anyways? Did your mother and father died in the flames?” he asked, tilting his head in pure ignorant curiosity.

_Maybe he’s younger than I expected?_

Such a naïve and brash attitude is fitted only for young ones who know nothing of the consequences of every words that came out of their mind.

The man glared up from the floor, looking up at him with such contempt, “…you killed her…you killed my wife and the child she’s carrying!” his loud voice—so rough and broken and pained—echoed across the hall. Everyone was left speechless, even Takahiro, the Emperor himself, had his beautiful face marred with a shocked frown.

_Oh._

“Oh…” he softly mumbled as he lazily rose from his throne and drop on his knees in front of the struggling man. His guards looked alarm and look like they’re about to haul him off the ground—but a reprimanding look had made them frozen on their spots, watching with wide, attentive eyes as His Highness gripped the man’s shoulder to force him to look at his solemn face.

_So, that’s it, huh,_ he thought as his almond-shaped eyes raked their course over the dirtied face— _so young and pure and strong_ —so handsome that his men in the Harem would not hold any candle against him—and that thought alone makes Taka licked his lips, so that’s _why he’s glaring at me like that…like I’ve taken everything from him—_

“Ha!” a loud, cackling giggle escaped his lips—shocking everyone in the room at the sudden change of his demeanor, “Ahahahahaha!!!” he shook in laughter, snickering like a mad man as the man stared at him with bewildered eyes, “So ahahaha that was it! You lost your wife and future child today!” he grinned—eyes glinting maliciously—, “Such a sad tragedy, don’t you think so?! Ah, but I think that was destiny—,”

“You—,”

“If they hadn’t died, who knows if I’ll ever meet you!” he rose from his knees, ignoring the violent protests from the livid man. He looked so angry, so resentful and vengeful that Takahiro should hire more guards to protect his life because this man could easily kill him in his sleep if he would be allowed to roam free in the palace. And that thought—the thought of being able to play with fire and death makes a delightful shiver run down his spine, down to his toes—it excites him, makes his blood sizzle in anticipation, “This is good! So good!”

He grinned and sat back on his throne again, glimmering eyes scanning the horde of pitiful slaves across the hall. He doesn’t have any use for them. He really just wants to see if there’s someone interesting in today’s catch, and now that he had found one, the others might as we’ll get eliminated. Food is still scarce in some parts of the empire anyways. “Dispose them.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Wha—_

Toru’s head snapped towards the cheeky Emperor upon hearing that order. Not long after, he can hear manly screams and struggling behind them— _“no, no, please spare us!”, “have mercy!”—_

_You fucking murderer—_

He gritted his teeth as he tried to push off the hands on his back, “Stop! Don’t—don’t kill them—,”

Cold eyes regarded him with slight amusement, the lunatic grin still etched on those plump lips. Toru held his breath, watching as the fabric of his Imperial garb smoothly flowed as the Emperor leaned his check on his hand, “Oh?”

He took that as an invitation to speak his thoughts.

“Y-you already killed everyone in the village, can’t you…can’t you just spare these men?!” he swallowed, mouth feeling dry all of sudden because he knows that somewhere in his back, there’s the baker that makes the best bread in town, there was the sewer, the carpenter, the teacher—he knows everyone sitting and kneeling behind him and to see them getting killed is not something he would ever want to experience in his whole life.

_Isn’t it enough?_

_Aren’t those innocent lives you took, enough?_

“Please—,” he said, helplessly groveling in front of the Emperor, “Please…”

A tap pulled him out of his stupor. Damn, the sweet-smelling foot is nudging his cheek again. Toru glared at the limb, before his eyes trailed up to the man’s leering face. He looks so smug, sitting over the throne that was too big for his petite frame. His clothes almost swallowed his entire form, the dark red making his alabaster skin look even prettier to the eyes.

“Swear your loyalty to me,” the Emperor said, tapping his cheek with his foot again, “And I’ll spare their pathetic lives.”

_Swear? That’s easy._ Toru could do that. Make a false promise, free the men, kill this Emperor before he flees to safety. Yes, he could do that.

He gulped, lowering his gaze on the floor before muttering, “I—I swear—,”

“Not by words,” the man interrupted him, making him to look up in confusion. What does he mean? The Emperor seemed to understand the confused frown on his filthy face because he moves s his foot, the soft, pinkish skin dragging on his cheek until his toes rest on his quivering lips. “Kiss it.”

Toru’s face darkened at the thought of that humiliating act. He can’t be—he couldn’t be asking him to—

“Kiss my foot,” the Emperor said, nudging and pressing his toes even forward, “And prove your loyalty to me, _seiko._ ”

Toru glared up at him. He really is a damn tyrant. Someone who basks in the agony of the other, someone who lives in the death of others, someone who enjoys the misery of common people like him.

A devil incarnate.

And he was asking Toru to be his loyal aide.

Servant. _Slave._

Toru can hear the grunts behind him, can see his humble abode—whole and bright and warm—he can see his wife’s embrace, her soft hands caressing his face as she bid him goodbye, he can feel the slight bump on his belly where their child resides, he can see the village sprawled below the mountain—quaint, peaceful—

Toru nodded, slowly and hesitantly, as the guards let go of his hands—but not retracting their spears—the sharp end pointing towards his body so that they could impale him if he dares to attack the most powerful man in the nation. He hesitantly wrapped his trembling hands on the foot—his eyes scanning the soft flesh, pink on the edges where it’s been stuffed inside cramped shoes. It smells like Jasmine and vanilla and everything that’s heavenly— _feminine_ —everything that’s feminine. Toru slowly bring it towards his lips—his eyes glowing in rage, throwing sharp glares at the man who suddenly brightened up at that gesture.

He seems delighted.

Like a child who got his newest toy. Toru swallowed, hard as he tried to distract himself on the feeling of that warm skin against his cold, freezing lips through thinking on how the _Emperor would look good on red_ —bathing in his _own_ pool of blood—after Toru had stabbed him for over a million times in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think~!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
